Fall For You
by theytalktome
Summary: They hadn't spoken all day - it stopped the fighting and the screaming. Slash: CM Punk / JBL


Tattooed hands shakily lit the two candle sticks at the dining table. He was working as slow as possible to set the plates down and took his time with the forks and knives, any amount of time to put off the dinner, even if it was for a couple of minutes had all been worth it. He forced himself to smile as his lover walked into the room, his finger tips tilted his head up for their eyes to meet; his own smile was finally from the heart, finally there after weeks of being completely absent. The days had been extraordinarily draining, fights ran rampant and for the first time there had been talk - screams - of divorce. There hadn't been a single person in the locker room that believed this was finally happening to the unlikely power-couple; and not a single person who hadn't had a large sum of money betted on the situation right from the start. Those who hadn't been in on the pot had been attempting to get in on it now. Seven months or so they had been in their relationship: completely blind and deaf to anything but each other. It only took one night to start destroying their love. Dinner was painfully silent, with the exception of the contents of the wine glass - that had been filled with sparkling cider out of the thoughtfulness that was Mr. John Layfield.

They hadn't spoken all day - it stopped the fighting and the screaming. So far it was the best for them, and only supported their ideas of separation.

Phil poked and shuffled his food around the plate, awkwardness setting in as John's gaze came to a dead rest on him. He felt too out of place to excuse himself from the table with out John telling him to leave like he usually had before. He was always the first to leave, but not now. John rose from his seat a couple minutes later, spooning what was left of his plate into the bowls in the kitchen belonging to his pets. He'd been so appetite-less, and Punk knew better than to pester if his cooking was that bad - they already had that fight more than enough times.

He sighed, watching John settle into the couch that had become his bed lately. Quietly Phil announced he was going out for a while as he slipped his arms into the sleeves of his hoodie when he was stopped. Addressed like some form of property he'd been informed that he couldn't go out - some lame excuse that New York City wasn't the place to go for a random stroll at night. Even if it wasn't, John hadn't cared before. Crossing his arms as wall street's cowboy walked toward him, probably looking a little more worried, or more afraid than he would have liked to have let on.

John did nothing but look at him for the longest time, his eyes slightly narrowed, fixed on him and looking like he was straining just to see beyond the way that his eyes had glossed over. His arms left his pockets and found their way around his waist, pulling him close and holding him there for a few moments. He didn't say a thing... he just wanted --needed. As he pulled away and turned to go upstairs, telling him that Chicago wasn't any more dangerous than New York.

Phil's brown eyes watched him walk up the stairs. He felt so far away, and maybe he had just been feeling completely selfish about the decisions he'd made. His head fell to the ground, eyes heavy with tears he hadn't shed in months. The fact that he was miserable with out John finally sunk in and pretending it was some kind of blessing to realize everyone had been right about their relationship crashing and burning in a hail of gunfire hadn't been true. There was still love there, distant, but there.

He whispered the older man's name, his mind bashing him and hoping that he hadn't heard it, and that they could go on hating each other till the ordered divorce papers came to their door. John heard, and turned around slowly, hoping he wasn't dreaming that tone of voice - he wasn't. It was burning for him to not answer in a sarcastic don't-give-a-fuck voice. It was killing him that he couldn't even find words to be sarcastic or pleasant to deal with. When he heard the sniff - that little confirmation that someone had been crying, he set down the stairs to wrap his arms around the boy.

They collapsed into one another, falling onto the staircase and staying seated there. For once, they hadn't felt so completely alone. Punk felt horribly guilty for the way he'd been reacting to John's decisions, no matter how wrong he felt that they where, he had more than enough reasons to back it all up. He always loved when John's fingers caressed his hair, and with their combined sleepless nights; two of which had been spent getting each other out of jail for the night, and the others stopping their fights to look like the perfect couple when the police showed up at the door again and again with some form of domestic violence charges from their neighbors, and probably people across the city as well, or even from the next state, or country for that matter. It felt like a matter of time before there had been a body on the floor, drenched in blood, and a knife to dispose of and several excuses to make up; Punk was ready to fall asleep in his arms.

"I know you don't think that I am trying." John whispered, begaining to rock him gently, whether to comfort himself in saying so, or for his former love to feel better.

Punk attempted to look on the bright side, they where going to get more time together now - if they stayed together. Still, it seemed unlikely. They'd both been wearing thin from dealing with each other. John did have enough to deal with as it is, and himself being a pain in the ass wasn't going to help him feel better about his decisions. He looked up at him, unconsciously holding his breath. John smiled cautiously. They leaned into each other, genuinely surprised when they felt one another kissing back.

John was first to stand up, picking up his "bride," the same way he had carried him down the isle to his limousine, and taking him up to their bedroom. To Layfield, it felt like it wasn't even his own bedroom but something significantly different. It was strange to see the bed made, and not a wreck of sheets and pillows strewn about, or even the mattress toppled over on the floor. When they got busy with one another that gorgeous maid had her work cut out for her.

He let go, placing him on the bed and taking the laptop and miscellaneous items off and placing - or throwing - them onto the floor. Phil sat on the end, watching him shuffle through the mess he was making and glad it wasn't either of their problem to worry about. That's what money is for. Amusement left once he realized he was doing it to stall - grabbing onto his hand and nodding toward the bed as he pulled him down to sit beside him. Silence struck again with the exception of the cat jumping off of the bed and leaving the room.

With a heavy sigh John took the tattooed hands in his own, his thumb gently caressing over the soft skin and black polished nails. He gained himself the courage to look back into his eyes, "I may have failed but I have loved you from the start."

Phil took his hands from him, wrapping them around his neck instead and moving into his lap. Simultaneously matching eyes shut to darkness. Rebellious lips met the conservative lips that felt the desire in a steel ring for the first time since the dawn of their fights. John fell back onto the bed, never letting go of him, their kiss only breaking when they started to laugh. A kiss held so many unexpressed things, speaking the things they couldn't bring themselves to discuss.

The Mamajuana shirt was first to come off, and then a band tee that would have been completely irrelevant to Wall Street's cowboy if it hadn't always been blasting inside of his limousine. With each slow kiss they wound up moving back just to see each other. It seemed hard not to feel like Morticia Addams as John's lips trailed down his jaw and over his neck. God he missed that feeling. He was finally going to get a taste of what make up sex was going to be like when he felt his large hands roam to the button of his jeans.

John woke up with a smile already on his face - and not just because his younger lover was more than fantastic under the sheets, but because he knew that the straight edge star was his to keep. His free hand, the one that hadn't been wrapped around his back, holding him in place, tucked the long strands of black hair behind his ears and gently took in the smell of old cologne. His eyes moved to the dresser, the digital photo frame that flashed pictures from their wedding, many vacations, some memorable times in the ring and just them goofing off around the house. It was a sweet reminder of what was going to come back. It took him several minutes to stop watching the photographs and look at the time, he cursed under his breath and lifted the limp tattooed hand off his chest and bringing it to his lips. He whispered for him to wake up, but it hadn't prevailed.

When Phil finally awoke, he was batting John over the head with one of the throw pillows with his straight edge logos on them. It was just like every morning. John laughed and rolled over on top of him, pinning him to the bed with kisses and telling him he was going to ditch his Fox segment in exchange for having breakfast at one of his favorite restaurants - an upscale one of course. They ended up staying in bed for another hour, laying in each other's arms.

"A guy like you is impossible to find."

"You're impossible to find..."


End file.
